


Come Softly to Me

by Sheselectric



Series: Ain't Misbehaving [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV John Marston, Post-RDR2 Epilogue, RDR1 Implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheselectric/pseuds/Sheselectric
Summary: John never thought he'd feel so strongly about someone, but Abigail was special.Set right after the American Venom.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston & John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Series: Ain't Misbehaving [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678081
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	Come Softly to Me

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough Abigail/John love in the fandom, so I wrote this little romantic/sexual one-shot to fill the gap. Inspired heavily by their relationship in RDR1.

The ride back home was quiet. _Home_. The word rattled inside his skull as he thought of Beecher’s Hope.

Throughout the years, he’d never much cared for a roof over his head. A camp here or there; sleeping under the vast open skies if the weather allowed. In the end, it was nothing but the opportunity to rest in relative safety.

But things changed as he and Abigail got together, and now the long trips and sleeping on the cold ground left him with longing. He dreamt of his own bed and sheets warmed by her skin as she tossed and turned during the night. It annoyed him too at first, but with time he found it endearing. Even how she’d half-consciously slap his hands when he tried to caress her.

It got him thinking that maybe he still didn’t care about the roof over his head. Maybe he simply cared that whatever roof he had, he shared it with Abigail. Then it got him thinking that maybe long trips in silence made him all romantic and philosophical-like, and he shook his head in disbelief, but couldn’t help the quiet laugh that left his mouth.

~

She ran out of the door just as he was getting off his horse. Abigail wasn’t the one to show her affection openly, so the fact that she all but crashed into his chest made the warmth spread through his body. Then it made him realize how worried she must’ve been.

“You ain’t leaving me again John Marston, you hear me?” she said while clutching onto his neck. He caressed her hair, trying to suppress guilt and failing.

“I won’t,” he said more to himself than to her.

“Sir,” Jack stepped down the stairs, visibly unsure of what to do. Abigail took a step back, taking a long look at John’s face.

This was the start of their new lives. Not when Arthur helped them escape. Not when John and his family wandered around the country for years after. Not even when he bought Beecher’s Hope. It was _now_. The feeling was heavy on his arms, but it felt right.

“Come here,” he said to Jack and the boy hugged into his side somehow awkwardly. John patted him on the arm.

“Well,” Abigail tried to contain her emotions, “you know I ain’t much of a cook, but I did prepare something." She was by the door before he could even answer. He patted Jack on the back to make him move along and followed into her footsteps.

~

“You did prepare _something_ all right,” John said as he swallowed another spoonful of undercooked stew. Corners of Abigail’s mouth lifted as she looked at him.

“I better see you clean the plate,” she teased and her eyes glimmered.

“Yes my angel,” he answered quickly and with the only pet-name that had the ability to make Abigail laugh while simultaneously enraging her.

And she did laugh, shaking her head as he finished eating. He watched her as she picked the plate up and turned to clean it. It’d be like this forever now -– a domestic life. Not the one John had ever predicted, but the one he somehow got.

“Where’s Jack?” He asked while relaxing into the chair.

Abigail wiped her forehead. “Turned in for the night I think. The boy was worried sick about you, so he’ll finally get a good night’s sleep.” There was no accusation in her words, but they stung anyway.

Maybe they'd finally got Abigail’s dreamt life, but John’d always be who he was. The thought was weirdly unpleasant, pulling at his heart as he stood up to hug into her back. He was bad at words, always making a fool of himself when he tried to tell her how he felt about her, so he figured that physical proximity would put the message across.

It did put _some_ message across as she pushed him away.

“Jesus John, you stink.”

He let out a raspy laugh.

“I stank when I first got here, don’t remember you being so worried about it.”

She softly slapped him on the arm before pulling him out of the kitchen.

“Come on, let’s get you a bath.”

~

He started undressing as Abigail run between the kitchen and the bedroom to fill the bath with the hot water. John figured that she’d leave once it was done, but she closed the door behind her while coming in with the last water bucket.

“What are you starin’ at?” She asked while pouring it down. “Get in.”

He wasn’t about to complain. His muscles relaxed the second he submerged himself -- there sure was a sprain in his back that he had no idea existed until it was gone. Abigail leaned over the rim to reach his chest.

“Was you fighting with no clothes on?” Her tone was half-joking, half-accusatory as she started to clean the blood off his skin.

No-one had ever bathed him before. Hell, John had barely cared about cleaning himself before getting with Abigail, but there was something special about the way his wife took care of him. _Intimate_ , some smarter folk would say, and he could feel warmth building in his stomach.

Her hand stopped as she reached where the bullet had grazed him a few nights before. He was lucky it was only that, but the tension that grew between them told him Abigail didn’t see it his way.

“I’m all right,” he said while looking at her. She didn’t seem convinced, so he put his own hand on hers, squeezing it reassuringly. The touch of her skin sent a pleasant jolt down his spine. “It’s nothing, Abigail,” he ensured her again and she finally relaxed, letting go of his hand.

She continued cleaning him without another word –- her hands traveling up and down his body in measured movements. She was harsh just enough to get all the grime out, but there was no malice in her rubbing and scrubbing.

She bathed him because she loved him, John thought, finding consolation in the fact that she was as impaired with expressing her affections as he was. Abigail was a woman of few gestures, but of the ones that mattered.

The blissful realization and her physical closeness made the feelings he’d held since coming back that much more nagging. So as he got out of the bath, he didn’t wait for her to hand him a towel, but instead caught her waist and pulled her to his body.

“Stop it,” she said with a small laugh while trashing to get out of his grip. “You’re all wet and…” He caught her face in his palms, eyes locked on hers for the briefest moment before pulling her into a kiss.

It wasn’t _much_ of a kiss at all as his lips brushed on hers before she took a step back with a laugh. “Dry yourself at least,” she said, stalling what was coming. He knew it wasn’t because she didn’t want to have him, but because she longed for him too, and the heaviness of it embarrassed her even though she’d never admit it.

“All right,” he rasped in defeat while reaching out to take the towel out of her hands, “all right.” But instead of grasping on the cloth, he caught her elbow and pulled her down on the bed with him.

“You’re a silly man, John Marston,” she laughed as she landed on her side, but playfulness was gone when he pulled her to his lips. This time the kiss was proper -– deep and hot as her hands clutched on his arms. John covered the side of her face with his palm, his rough fingers grazing over the soft skin and traveling to her hair.

He untangled the bun and watched it cascade down her arms. His desire spiked at the sight and he grunted as he pressed his lips into hers again.

For a moment, there was nothing but need as their bodies tangled with the heat coming off their skin. John wanted her like he’d never wanted any other woman, and the feeling never lessened with time. When her tongue swiped on his lower lip, he could recall when she had him for the first time, and his skin started to tingle in anticipation.

“We just need to remove those,” he mumbled in her mouth while reaching for her skirt, “this, whatever that is,” he grunted as he caught the fabric and started pulling it down. Abigail laughed but started to help by unbuttoning her blouse. Before he could put his hands on her again, she pushed him on his back and straddled him with a triumphant glimmer in her eyes.

John saw enough redness in her skin to know that she was done with messing around. She leaned down, hair tickling his chest, and kissed him with the longing that made the hardness between them that much more unbearable. Her fingers traced his scar as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She liked to dominate -- always had -- so she tried to wiggle out of his grip, but John had none of it. He turned Abigail on her back, covering her with his body. She opened her mouth to complain, but voice died in her throat as he started kissing between her breasts and down her stomach.

He licked the salty skin, his stubble rubbing on it as he went. Abigail shivered under the touch, but it was only when he blew some air on her navel that she gasped and her back curved. It was a small thing that only John knew about, which made it that much more satisfying when it gave him the desired reaction.

He hooked his fingers on her undergarments and pulled them down, the air becoming heavy with her scent and making him lose his gentle touch. He tried to be better-behaved for her sake, but he was still rough around the edges, so he spread her legs and started to kiss the inside of her thigh with the ferocity of a husband that missed his wife too much to admit. And then he went lower.

Abigail grabbed his hand, nails cutting into his skin as her breathing sped up. He was lost in it –- the taste, the scent, the quick rising and falling of her chest -– and his own need started to pull heavily on him. He wiped his lips in the sheets before getting on top of her again.

She opened her eyes and held his gaze as he positioned himself between her legs. John thrust in slowly and the pleasure after holding back for that long made his arms quiver. He held his weight, picking up the pace and pressing her into the mattress in the fit of the overwhelming desire.

It was only when she caught his face in her hands that he slowed down.

When they first started lying together, he couldn't look her in the eyes. He didn’t want the attachment. He feared it. It had been eating at him for years after Jack was born –- the deeply-ingrained shame of having convinced the son without giving his mother the respect of looking her in the eyes.

He couldn’t do it in the first months after they became family too. John remembered how they moved in with him in the Shady Belle; hot, humid nights of them trying to bed without waking Jack up. The shame of his past behaviors was always in the back of his mind, and he turned his head away anytime she tried to look at him. He didn’t feel he deserved the loving gaze.

But now, things were different. He wasn’t much to look at, yet she looked at him as if he’d never done wrong in his life. As if he was the man truly worth loving. She made _him_ feel those things and the only thing he could do was to return the gaze to show her how much he loved _her_.

John started to move again and her eyelids fluttered before she closed her eyes. He observed her face with every thrust -– the wrinkling of her eyebrows and lips forming in the small o –- until he couldn’t keep his eyes open either. He started kissing her neck, fighting with the urge to finish as the tension in his loins grew. 

Abigail trailed her fingers down his back, moaning and tossing under him, pressing her breasts into his chest and pecking on his arm with her lips. It took one more deep thrust for her moan to turn into a loud gasp as she found her release.

John followed soon after, picking up the pace for a few seconds before grunting and falling on her chest with his full weight. He would fall asleep almost instantly if not for her nagging.

“Get off me,” she laughed while trying to push him to the side, “you really put on weight since we moved here.”

John turned on his back and smiled.

“Sure wasn’t because of your cooking,” he said and she slapped his arm, but nestled in his embrace soon after.

“I’m really happy you’re back, John,” she whispered.

“I ain’t leaving again,” he said and for a moment he really wanted the words to be true. 

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned in the beginning, there was a lot of inspiration drawn from RDR1 gameplay like John's pet-name for Abigail, cooking jokes, and some of her mannerisms. I absolutely adored them there and I wanted to bring some of that magic into what we see by the end of RDR2. I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know if you did! :)


End file.
